Unfortunate Circumstances
by TuesdayNovember
Summary: Drabble series. Percival's poor coping skills and inability to let go of old habits lead to some unfortunate situations.
1. Compulsion

**Mmkay, so, me being me, I've decided to procrastinate on writing stories by _writing a story_. I know, it's insane.  
Anyway, this one is based on what the director for _Lord of the Flies_ at ma schoo' said to the girl who was playing Percival: You need to remember that Percival is just a kid. He's being sent away, and his parents don't want any mishaps. He's probably practiced his name and address a thousand times before going. This is the one thing he's got to hold on to. **

**Well, says I, what if the one thing he's got to hold on to is what he wants to let go of? (I know, it's deep.) Enjoy!**

"Hey Percy! _What's your name?_"

The playground swam in front of his eyes. He turned around and saw not Brian and James, but his father, tall and stately, bent at the waist, admonishing him.

_"Now son, we've gone over this already. When someone asks what your name is, what do you say?"_

_"My name is Percival Wemys Madison. The Vicarage, Harcourt St. Anthony, telephone Harcourt 241"_

_"Alright then, what's your name?"_

He froze, watching Brian and James watch him, callous smirks tugging at their lips, cold mirth dancing in their eyes.

The words were torn from his throat as unwillingly as a cat to water.

"My name is Percival Wemys Madison. The Vicarage, Harcourt St. Anthony, telephone Harcourt 241," it came out in a babbling rush, only half comprehensible.

Shrieking laughter tore the air, and Percival fled.

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**So, whaddaya think? Review, s'il vous plait! =D**


	2. Distraction

**I've decided that there's not enough Percival. So I've written more about him.  
You probably realized that he was absolutely adorable in the movie (1960-whatever, I haven't seen the other to know) but in the book, he's supposed to be ugly and annoying. So here we have ugly, annoying Percival. Enjoy!**

"Mr. and Mrs. Madison, I'm very sorry to say that I don't think your son is quite ready to be moving on to the next grade," Mrs. Reed said, not sounding remotely sorry, "Percival," she continued, "Had always been a very good student before the... incident. Unfortunately, since he's come back, he hasn't quite been able to focus on his lessons, which has been particularly distressing, seeing as he was already quite a few months behind."

Mrs. Madison's narrow face was directed downwards, at her lap. One hand unconsciously sought her husband's. "Oh." She said.

Mr. Madison, on the other hand, twisted his mouth into an odd shape that, when seen with the rest of his face, gave the impression of a grimace. He said,

"You say Percival has been distracted?"

Mrs. Reed nodded immediately, before seeming to realize her eagerness to answer was unbecoming. After the briefest of pauses she said, "Yes, unfortunately."

She didn't sound as though it was at all unfortunate. If the boy had been annoying before the incident, then after it he had been downright nuisance. _And so ugly!_ Inspecting the boy's parents, she seemed to understand why.

Mr. Madison's face turned stormy, "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Reed." His voice was ice.

Too sweetly, she said, "Not at all, Mr. Madison, Mrs. Madison." She rose, extending a hand to each of them in turn. "I hope you understand that this is all for dear Percival's own good."

Mrs. Madison seemed on the verge of tears as she nodded.

Sitting silently in his chair, Percival had eyes only for the colour photograph of a tropical island that graced the far left wall of the class.

He didn't realize the conversation had ended until one of his father's hands made contact with his head.

"Boy," he growled, "It's one thing when you don't pay attention in class, it's another when you ignore your parents."

He was dragged by the ear out the door, knowing full well that he'd lost the privilege of dinner that night, but thankful, at least, that he wouldn't have to be in the same room as that picture for at least a year.

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**Writing drabbles is new to me, so I'd appreciate some feedback - good or bad, because I love you, and if you love me then you'll do it. I promise I won't respect you any less afterwards. Please?**


	3. Realization

**I update erratically. I have no idea where this came from, I just hope you enjoy it. =)**

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It was cold.

Wrapped in a tangle of blankets, Percival shivered. That morning, he'd returned to England – to his home – for the first time in months.

The first thing he noticed after he got off the plane was that something was amiss. It took some time for him to realize that there was no dull crashing in the background.

Percival could not hear the ocean.

His mother had wrapped him up in an almost painful hug. A hug that lasted too long to be proper. A hug that, no matter how tight, how loving, could not return the heat to his body.

With no tropical sun to warm his shaking body, and no soft buzz to distract his terrified mind, Percival realized that he would forever be doomed to a life devoid of the two things he had come to love.

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**Love it? Hate it? Don't care? Tell me, please!**


	4. Affliction

**Well, another random update. Hope you like it! =)**

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Save for the captain and some crew, Percival was the last to disembark. He was a bit dizzy and wobbly on his feet from so long at sea. He was confused, too. All around him, the people he'd spent the last months with were acting…strangely. Nothing like the way he knew them. They were crying and hugging and apologising and saying things that didn't make sense.

His mother engulfed him in a hug, which he returned. The ship's doctor found them not too much longer later, and drew Percival's parents aside a moment. "You son has a rather severe case of heatstroke," he explained.

While his parents' backs were turned to him, Percival swayed. Everything looked so strange.

He fainted not a moment later, and had he not been unconscious, he may have seen the wild, fearful look in Jack's eyes as the scrawny, black haired boy collapsed, so much like another had, so many times before.

It was only because his mother's arms were looped so tightly around her son's middle that he didn't lunge at the boy crumpled on the docks.


	5. Adaptation

**I really should be working on NaNoWriMo, but when an idea comes, it comes, and this just had to be written.**

**Warning for some crude language in this one.**

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It was two weeks before the crying started to die down. Two weeks before the little'uns found a new routine. Two weeks before Home was just a foggy imprint that seemed to steer them towards the Right and the Good when they thought of doing something Bad.

It was four weeks when the crying changed its subject – no longer home but indigestion and fear. Four weeks when the routine became permanent. Four weeks when the foggy imprint of Home Values began to fade.

It was six weeks until the crying lost its meaning. Six weeks until the routine became as dull as the one they had forgotten. Six weeks until there were no real Values left. At least in the little'uns. It was two months until the big'uns lost theirs.

Sometime around the seven-week mark of being stranded, Percival and Henry took to a secluded corner of the beach, shaded coolly by the canopy of trees not far behind, to build sandcastles. The idea had been Henry's, and Percival, feeling vaguely sick from the water, had accompanied him.

The sandcastles they built were crude, ugly things. Made with too much water, they looked lumpy and distorted. But Henry and Percival were fond of their creation, and sat back on their haunches to admire their work.

Roger and Maurice, back from hunting, had taken a different path to the camp. They came upon the little'uns, sitting proudly by their pile of sand, and sniggered.

Roger nudged Maurice and said, "It looks like they took a shit there!"

Maurice laughed – not only because Roger's language was so wrong, so _daring_, but because it really did look like a pile of shit.

Roger grinned, "I dare you to run through it!"

"No way!" Maurice said, making a face.

"Nope! I dared you! You have to!" Roger said triumphantly.

They regarded each other for a moment, then Maurice, waving his spear like a madman and ululating just as crazily, jumped out at the two of them, and scared the boys away as he kicked sand in the air and destroyed their work.

Roger laughed from the bushes, and threw a handful of stones at the backs of the retreating boys – he told Maurice later that he hadn't aimed to hit, and Maurice had solemnly agreed that that would have been wrong, but neither laughed harder than when one of the stones had _thwack_ed Percival right on his ass.

When Henry and Percival had gotten safely away from the two attacking big'uns, they were crying. A part of Henry was shocked that no one came to comfort him.

But Percival wasn't.

Of all the things that were different about the island, some things never changed.


	6. Delirium

**Another update that came from nowhere.**

**I'd like to thank my wonderful reviewers, Lauren Kassidy and my dear anonymous reviewer, anon. This update is for you two. **

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It was strange to be in the jungle so late at night. Dark and oppressive figures loomed above him, made visible only by the light of the icy moon.

_You don't go to the bathroom there! _Ralph had yelled at him earlier that day. But it was hardly _his_ fault. The fruit was so sickening it was all he could do not to vomit all over Ralph himself.

But then, in the middle of the night, he felt the uncomfortable queasiness that preceded his being sick. So he had run off into the jungle.

But he was lost now. Snakelike monsters reached out for him as he stumbled blindly through the dark. They wound around his arms and legs, hissing and whispering.

_You're never getting away from us, little boy! _

_So delicious! We want to tear you limb from limb and eat you for breakfast._

_There's no escape, little boy._

The beasts pulled at him, threatening him with their soft voices.

Eyes burning, he didn't find his way back until morning.

_No escape, little boy._

But the whispering didn't stop for a very long time.

_None at all._

**Thoughts? I'd love to hear them. **


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